


Welcome to Omelas

by Anonymous



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: 2019 KHR Winter Remix, Angst, Being Used for Others' Happiness, Depression, Fanart, Feeling Trapped, Gen, Ignored feelings, Illustrated, Lost Hope, Lost autonomy, Lost dreams, Mental and Physical Exhaustion, Messed up expectations, No Betas We Die Like Vindice (with burning regret and spite), Remix, Sacrifice, You know how it be U_U, messed up relationships, not a happy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-20 17:27:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21285431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “I just want to thank everyone in this room for being here today,” Timoteo began. “I am humbled, and honored, to have each and every one of you here. Every individual in this room means the world to me. It’s your happiness, your safety, and your prosperity that has given me the strength to do what I do.” He paused here, taking a measured moment to collect himself. The crowd looked on respectfully, holding back their applause as tears dampened their gazes.Tsuna itched for a drink.Fanart:what does the mirror see?bySeito||Remix:don't look at the child underneath the floorboardsbyKosaji
Comments: 11
Kudos: 138
Collections: 2019 KHR Winter Remix Fest Round 1: Prompt Fic, Anonymous





	Welcome to Omelas

**Author's Note:**

> For a deliciously _devastating_ fanart inspired by this fic, I would like to direct you to [what does the mirror see?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25064794), courtesy of renowned, prolific KHR fic author and artist, [Seito](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seito/pseuds/Seito). PLEASE go shower her in love and tears, her work is incredible and it captures every last heart-breaking emotion this fic could only _dream_ of illustrating. TAT

One month after moving into the Vongola mansion, Tsuna ordered the mirrors be removed.

* * *

He felt like he was going to die.  
  
The feeling was habitual, at this point, and yet, somehow, even after all these years, the pain never had the decency to be even slightly more accommodating. Tsuna had given up on the dream that it ever would.  
  
His lungs screamed in wet, hot agony as he gulped in air. He could feel the organs smoldering just beneath the thin bars of his ribs, desperately wanting to collapse in on themselves to escape the strain they had suffered these past hours. They weren’t alone in their desperation; however, whereas his lungs wished nothing more than to fold in like a dying star, his heart wished nothing more than to go super nova, exit the godforsaken body it was trapped in, and leave this situation at the nearest possible convenience.  
  
_ Wouldn’t that be a scene,_ Tsuna thought humorlessly, fleetingly. He took a moment to categorize the aches in his body, and came to find that, as much as his insides protested, the rest of him was fairly unharmed.  
  
That had to be worth something, at least.  
  
Tsuna had almost been shocked when, earlier that morning, he had felt the impact of a mallet-shaped Leon make contact with the space he had been sleeping only milliseconds before. It had been years since the once-baby hitman had used that method on him, namely because Tsuna’s increased perceptiveness and reflexes made the gag useless, but partly because Reborn was never one to use the same gag for too long anyway. (Gotta keep the torture methods Fresh, and the victims on their toes, you know?)  
  
For Reborn to fall back to using that method, now…Tsuna didn’t need his intuition to know that today was going to be different.  
  
“Dame-Tsuna, get up,” the hitman smirked, knowing full well his words were unneeded and the mallet did its job of make sure Tsuna was already up. Tsuna had simply stared blankly at his tutor, unamused but appropriately silent as he waited for Reborn’s orders. (_Orders,_ because whatever this was about, Tsuna would not have a choice in whether he participated or not, and like a dog that had been trained to accept its master’s commands, he no longer bothered questioning what the hitman decided. Questioning simply wasn’t in his nature any longer.)  
  
Tsuna had watched as Leon changed back to his lizard form and Reborn leisurely set him back on the brim of his signature fedora.  
  
“I’m feeling nostalgic, today,” Reborn smirked. “Let’s go train, get some fresh air and stretch our limbs a bit. I’ve cleared your schedule for the day, and moved your meeting with the Momokyokai to next week,” Tsuna’s gut had rolled and he fought the acid threatening to climb up his esophagus, “I expect you dressed and downstairs in four minutes.”  
  
With that, Reborn was already out the door, only a final teasing, “If you don’t hurry, Maman’s breakfast will be all gone~,” called over his shoulder.  
  
Belatedly, uselessly, Tsuna had nodded, picked himself off his bed, and numbly made to change out of his pajamas.  
  
(Breakfast was gone by the time he had made it downstairs, just two minutes later.)  
  
That was how he and Reborn had ended up on this mountain, six kilometers outside of Namimori, catching their breath in a moment that had brought their spar to a temporary pause. They had been sparring for hours, Tsuna armed with his gloves and flames, and Reborn armed with his…well, everything. Now in his adult body after seven years of near constant growth spurts, Reborn was a force to be reckoned with. Not that he wasn’t before, of course, but if Reborn had been a phenomenon in his baby form, he was a downright ordeal now.  
  
They had started in a small clearing towards the base of the mountain, but in the course of their fighting they had ended up at the tributary of a stream and a modest lake. They were out in the open, standing in the soft soil of the lake’s banks, and Tsuna itched to bring the fight back to the trees.  
  
His attention had been divided, focused on calculating how fast he would need to be to make it to the tree line and lure Reborn into a thicket dense enough to restrict his movements, when the hitman made his next move.  
  
Reborn ran at him, gun drawn, and a brief flicker of panic erupted inside of Tsuna. His body acted on instinct, falling backwards and rolling to the side as he kicked out a foot. Reborn jumped, dodging it, but his position made it easy for Tsuna to grab hold of Reborn’s suit jacket, shift his weight, and throw the hitman over his shoulder.  
  
Tsuna’s intuition screamed as Reborn aimed his gun at him. Even airborne and upside down, Tsuna had absolutely no doubt that his tutor’s aim would be flawless. Again, he reacted without thinking, a machine that had been reprogrammed by brute-force so many times that he’d be far from shocked to find out all his original code had been rewritten entirely. His palms turned down and it only took a blast of flames to propel him towards Reborn at a speed nearly undetectable. It was just enough to make Reborn hesitate his finger on the trigger. Tsuna striked down on the wrist of the hand holding the gun, forcing Reborn to let go of the gun as he snatched his arm away. Tsuna swiping it could fall and turned his other palm toward the hitman, releasing another blast of flames.  
  
The blast hit its target, sending both Reborn and himself back. Reborn hit the ground on his feet, but slid and stumbled in the damp earth. Tsuna landed a few feet away and immediately held the gun aloft, aim centered on his opponent. Tsuna’s finger crackled against the trigger.  
  
Tsuna stared the hitman down as the man lifted himself back to a standing position. He braced for another attack, teeth gritted.  
  
The attack never came.  
  
Instead, the hitman was staring down, obsidian eyes gleaming from under the shade of his hat. Tsuna frowned, confused why his tutor had stopped. Hesitantly, his gaze followed the hitman’s.  
  
Apparently, somewhere in their scuffle, they had ended up ankle-deep in the shallows of the lake water. The remnants of ripples from the duo’s respective landings slid across the water, circling out in a unheard rhythm until the lake surface was smooth and undisturbed once more. It was in that smooth, glass-like surface that Tsuna caught sight of his reflection.  
  
His blood curdled.  
  
Scalding hot bile crawled up his throat, squirming arms of burning acid, lapping at the back of his mouth, tickling his tongue and threatening to ooze out from the spaces between his teeth. The world around him tilted dizzyingly, and it was pure muscle memory that had his body bracing, preventing him from collapsing.  
  
Reborn’s grin was sharp and his eyes, now turned up and boring into Tsuna, skewered him. Pride sparked sinisterly from him like firecrackers, threatening to electrocute Tsuna where he stood. In a soft voice that held an edge of feral excitement, he pierced the silence that had settled like a funerary blanket across their landscape.  
  
“You’re ready.”

* * *

Nono’s retirement party had been the talk of the Mafia world.  
  
Of the two centuries since the Mafia’s inception, and the nine generations of bosses Vongola had cycled through in short order, Timoteo had been the longest-running (read: longest-surviving) Vongola boss. Certainly no feat to scoff at, given the nature of their livelihoods. Nono had spent over 50 years leading the most prominent Family in the world, negotiating alliances, branching businesses, protecting assets, and ridding away with any who threatened Vongola’s position in the world.  
  
Of course, a legacy like that deserved an appropriate amount of fanfare. Of course, a celebration was held at a distant, sparsely used villa away from the Italian mainland. And, of course, every mafia member worth their Flames were invited.  
  
Tsuna, 22, flashed an easy smile as he stood by the doors, greeting the constant stream of guests. He spoke sparingly, only returning short pleasantries, followed by a nod or laugh at the appropriate cues. People he’d only distantly knew of, thanks to Reborn’s militant drilling of Family names and prominent members, swept him in hugs and suffocated him in praises like it was a reunion between the oldest of friends.  
  
The chandelier lights of the ballroom glowed, filling the room with a warm, pleasant atmosphere. By now, guests were well into their evening of dancing and socializing, and for a room full of Mafia members, it was shockingly very amicable.  
  
Tsuna took a rare moment to himself, stepping away from his position at the doors so he could look around. He could see some of his guardians, Ryohei and Takeshi, on the dance floor, treating some of the younger Mafia children to a circling to a lively circle dance that was more a cyclone of screeching giggles in the center of the ball room than an actual “dance.”  
  
Hayato and Bianchi were off near the balcony, talking with Dino. Hayato was gesticulating with his hands, and Tsuna was too far to be able to read his lips and know what he was saying, but knowing Hayato, it was probably about Tsuna himself. Bianchi was sipping from the champagne glass in her hand, occasionally chiming in to rile Hayato up. Dino himself was laughing, loud and unabashed, at the siblings’ behavior.  
  
A clatter from nearby caught his attention and, following the noise, he found his Lightning and Mist guardians near the food table. Chrome was pulling Mukuro away just as Lambo, who had been precariously balancing on a chair in order to reach a cupcake on the top row of a seven-tiered pastry stand, slipped and knocked into the stand. Everyone in the immediate area gasped as it and the cupcakes tilted, threatening to fall off the table. Just in time, I-Pin jumped from her place near the finger sandwiches, and, in a great show of hyper reflexes, managed to not only stabilize the pastry stand, but also catch what cupcakes did slip off. Tsuna had to admit he was impressed, as were the crowd of people near the table who applauded I-Pin’s quick actions.  
  
Tsuna turned his head away as Chrome and I-Pin started to scold Lambo for his carelessness, deciding those two were more than fit to chastise the mischievous twelve hear old in Tsuna’s place.  
  
Tsuna contemplated for a moment whether it’d worth it to look around for Kyoya, but dismissed the idea. He already knew his Cloud was likely patrolling the grounds, well away from the crowding. Instead, he was about to grab another drink and go back to his post before Reborn or worse, his father, popped out of the shadows and reminded him, but his movement was stopped by a clinging from across the room.  
  
Everyone grew silent as the man of the hour, Vongola Nono, stood at the head of the a raised stage, champagne glass in hand. He released a hearty, warm laugh that brought smiles to every face in the room. Tsuna made sure that his own smile was still present.  
  
“I just want to thank everyone in this room for being here today,” Timoteo began, his rumbling voice soothing, the model of trustworthy and respectable. “I am humbled, and honored, to have each and every one of you here. Every individual in this room means the world to me. It’s your happiness, your safety, and your prosperity that has given me the strength to do what I do. Without you all, there would be no purpose for Vongola, no purpose for me. Nothing that I have done in my life could compare to the friends and partnerships I’ve made along the way. I would not be here without your support and our Family.” He paused here, taking a measured moment to collect himself. The crowd looked on respectfully, holding back their applause as tears dampened their gazes.  
  
Tsuna itched for a drink.  
  
Finally, Timoteo looked back over the heads below him, taking in everyone with earnest appreciation. His thorough gaze did not miss a single pair of eyes in the room, wrapping everyone up in the intimacy of the moment, until they reached Tsuna. At that point, those eyes, deeply set in a face of wisened wrinkles and under charmingly bush brows, absolutely _shimmered._ His smile grew impossibly wider, “But there is one person here tonight who I would like to thank more than all. He has given me and everyone in this room more hope than anything else in my life. He, more than anyone, deserves the honor of all of you being gathered here tonight. For, this isn’t simply my retirement, and it’s certainly not a chapter coming to an end. This celebration is happening tonight to welcome in the fresh, brand new book in the history of the Vongola. This celebration is for my grandson, Tsunayoshi,” Timoteo raised his flute of champagne, and, somewhere at the peripheral of his senses, beyond the blood rushing in his ears, beyond the blurring edges of his vision, someone handed Tsuna his own glass. “Here is to Tsuna, the future of the Mafia, and the future of our Family.”  
  
Immediately, every person in the room turned towards Tsuna, hopeful, awe-filled eyes centered on him as they raised their glasses in offering. “To Tsuna!” They cried.  
  
Tsuna raised his glass the highest of them all, and with a loud, confident voice he returned their call: “To Family!”  
  
It was as he stood, smile still fixed even as he downed his champagne, body language exactly as sturdy and gracious as he had practiced for it to be, that he caught his reflection illuminated in the window across the room.  
  
Twenty minutes later, after many, many congratulations and words of reverence and friendly touches, Tsuna excused himself.  
  
He called out to people who caught his eyes, waving and thanking anyone who chatted at him as he walked past them on this way out of the room. He used slow, gradual steps as he wound his way to the bathroom furthest from the ballroom and lights and music. He made sure the door behind him was locked and tightly tucked a hand towel in the crack beneath. Tsuna proceeded to vomit up the champagne he’d been knocking back since the day began.

* * *

“I’m so proud of you, Tsu-chan.”  
  
The light emitting from Nana’s grin would have been enough to power all of Japan.  
  
Tsuna would respond – he already had the response ready to go, of course, _Thank you mom, it’s all because of you and Dad. I wouldn’t be here without you two._ – but the words were lodged somewhere in his throat along with all the others.  
  
Instead, Tsuna nodded, continuing as he methodically folded clothes.  
  
Nana didn’t blink at his silence. Her Tsuna had grown quieter, less rebellious, as he grew and matured. He no longer whined or shrieked or talked back like a teenager. No, her Tsuna had grown into a fine, respectful young man. She told him this as she picked up the shirt he had just folded and rolled it, positioning it in the suitcase on her son’s bed.  
  
“I was so worried about you, you know.” Nana’s features softened while Tsuna’s stiffened. “You were so directionless back then! No care for your grades, for making friends, for your future. I was scared you would be no-good forever, that you’d waste away your life and never be happy.” She sighed, placing a hand up to her cheek, a pair of socks in her other hand.  
  
She pulled her eyes away from the spot on the wall that she had been reminiscing at and looked at her son again, leaning in like she was including him in the telling of a particularly funny joke. “And with your father away for his work, I was at my wit’s end with what to do with you!” Tsuna dutifully smiled and nodded at the giggle she released.  
  
“But now look at you! So handsome, so respectful! You have so many friends, you’re starting this new job in Italy next week. Oh honey, I’m so proud of you. You’ve come such a long way.”  
  
Tsuna inhaled deliberately, counting seven long seconds while he picked lint off a pair of slacks, before exhaling silently and nodding. He raised his head and faced his mother. It was the first time he’d been able to look her in the eyes since he explained to her, weeks prior, that Reborn and Tsuna’s father had set up a job for him in Italy and that he’d be moving away. He saw himself in the reflection of her eyes, big and shining with a smile she rarely could keep down nowadays.  
  
A part of him – a part he desperately wished never existed, a part that had been gradually diminishing, losing its intensity over the years until it was finally just a sickly ember – somehow grew dimmer.  
  
He settled into a smile more feeble than he normally would have allowed himself to show, and, with a choked sound he knew his mother would associate with the emotions of leaving home, Tsuna whispered, “Thank you.”

* * *

He didn’t want to see it, what the mirrors showed.  
  
He didn’t want to see the strain of his own mouth, whose gentle, content lilt was forged from hammered steel and fire.  
  
He didn’t want to see the trembling in his shoulders, whose straight lines and effortless poise were conditioned from fear and need.  
  
He didn’t want to see the bob of his Adam’s apple, which fought to stifle the hoarse scream that has been building up inside him since that day when he was thirteen.  
  
He didn’t want to see the crimson red that wept from every pore of his skin, tattooing his body with the memories of being drenched in his own blood.  
  
He didn’t want to see the way his eyes pled, even after all these years, for an escape that would never come.  
  
He didn’t want to see Vongola Decimo, or Neo Vongola Primo, or whatever other mold the people around him ground him – his bones, his teeth, his voice, his identity – down to fit.  
  
He didn’t want this. He’d never wanted this.  
  
But no one else cared about what he had wanted.  
  
Everyone accepted his needs as negligible. Accepted his autonomy as an acceptable sacrifice for the role they needed him to fill. His unhappiness could be tolerated because it was the fuel, and he was the vehicle for their own happiness – their own precious, uncompromisable peace.  
  
And if everyone else could ignore the suffering that was so obvious in every atom of his being, if everyone else could ignore the heaving sobs that slipped out between the fixed and practiced smiles, if everyone else could ignore the tiny, broken child who was locked away inside the hollow cage they built him to be, the child whose eyes he could still so clearly see in his own every time he walked past a reflective surface, well, then…  
  
…Well, then Tsuna would ignore it as well.

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy, y'all! This fic was written for Round 1 of the KHR Rarepair Week's 2019 Winter Remix, hosted by the impeccable [rewire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rewire). For more details about this event, or for more, better content that others have created for this event, please feel free to visit the collection, [here](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/KHR_Winter_Remix_2019_Round_1).
> 
> The prompt for this fic was "The ones who walk away from Omelas," which is the title of a short, four-page story by Ursula Le Guin, a prolific science fiction writer. The story is great (especially for those who love dystopian fiction), and there's a PDF of it floating around on Google, so I definitely recommend reading that if you're interested!
> 
> P.S. The best part of writing a fic that is intended to be remixed is that all the plot holes, skipped-over nuances, left-out scenes, and vague interpretation is just fuel for the remixer. :)))
> 
> Thanks for reading! :D

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [don't look at the child underneath the floorboards](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22000459) by [Kosaji](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kosaji/pseuds/Kosaji)
  * [what does the mirror see?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25064794) by [Seito](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seito/pseuds/Seito)


End file.
